


Leave Me Breathless

by cherryvanilla



Series: Broadway Damage [2]
Category: Actor RPF, Broadway RPF
Genre: First Date, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-12
Updated: 2011-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:32:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Me Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t really read/watch interviews with celebrities so if any of things I consider to be there ‘favorites’ is already common knowledge and differs from what is within, please consider it creative license :)

_____________________

 _June 6, 2010_

This is the most nervous you’ve ever been before a first date. You’ve deduced your reaction as two-fold:

1\. **You’ve already hooked up**

When you do hook up the way you did last night, you usually never see the person again. Every date you’ve gone on has contained no prior physical contact. Last night you all but dragged him into a bathroom stall and tonight you’re supposed to make proper conversation. How can you be expected to sit across from him in a crowded restaurant when you know the feel of his cock, know what he looks like when he comes and how his body feels tucked up against yours. It’s embarrassing, to be honest.

2\. **You’re going to Daniel**

He’s taking you someplace ridiculously romantic. You’ve been there only once before. Your ex took you for your two year anniversary. It took him two paychecks to save up the money and he made the reservation a month in advance. You honestly can’t pinpoint why Zach suggested the place. He didn’t come off as someone who needs the cream of the crop to be satisfied. On the contrary, he seemed down to earth and very unlike the self-absorbed Hollywood types you’ve met before. You shamefully admit to seeking out some interviews after returning home that evening and your observations were confirmed: he’s not the swanky type at all. So you can’t figure out why you’re going to Daniel when he could have easily taken you to John’s or even 44 x 10. The only conclusion you arrive at is the most terrifying of all: he’s a ridiculous romantic and wants to dress to the nines and take you out and… impress you. You’ve lost a good twenty minutes of your life today analyzing your fucking _dinner_ location and finally decide to let it go.

You arrive at the restaurant at 8:25. Your skin itches and you long to be in comfortable jeans. He’s waiting in the foyer, standing beneath a large chandelier, when you enter. Your breath catches in your throat. He’s wearing a stunning charcoal suit. His hair is slick back and he’s shaved yesterday’s stubble; you have red marks on your neck not just from his mouth but from his cheeks. He’s looking around with something akin to intent and upon catching your eye he smiles widely. Your mouth goes dry as he glides up to you like someone out of a neo-noir film. You don’t want to sit through dinner; you want to drop to your knees here and now, run your palms over the fabric of his pants and find out if his cock tastes as good as it felt.

You give yourself a mental shake and manage to return his smile. You suddenly feel underdressed in your sport coat, collared shirt and slacks but you refuse to act as such or show him just what he’s doing to you right now by _looking like that_.

“Hi,” he says quietly, like a secret.

You nod and give him a casual (you hope) once over. “You clean up nice. Color me impressed,” you say, derisively.

His smile doesn’t fade. “Newsflash: you’re still a bitch,” he mock whispers.

“Flattery will get you to third base,” you wink and watch as his expression alters between stunned shock and lust.

“Dinner first,” he replies, voice thick, and walks over to the hostess. You follow, only slightly disappointed.

__________________________________

Zach orders a bottle of Chateu Lafite Rothschild Pauillac, which you no doubt assume to be ridiculously expensive. You talk about your old stomping grounds, where you went to high school, your favorite things about Pittsburgh.

“Can’t believe I was done with college when you were barely in high school.”

“You’re just into sweet young things,” you quip and watch his eyes darken.

“You seem a lot older, though. Mature,” he acknowledges as the wine arrives.

“You grow up fast in this business,” you say watching as the waiter makes a show presenting the bottle and giving Zach the first taste.

Satisfied, you both order appetizers and are left alone again.

“Do you like the wine?” he asks.

“Yeah. It’s really good.”

Zach takes another sip. “Have you ever been here before?”

You nod. “Yeah, once. It’s nice. I’ll admit though, it doesn’t seem like your thing.”

“Food’s great. Clientele is.. well, stuffer than last night, that’s for sure. Thought we’d go somewhere.. nice.”

“Nice can be cheap too,” you find yourself saying out of nowhere.

He looks affronted. “Didn’t realize my choice in venue offended you so. We can leave.”

Great. Just great. “I didn’t mean it like that at all.” His face is pinched and you could kick yourself. “I just meant – I don’t need to be impressed or anything. I’d be perfectly happy at Chipotle or Cheep’s Pita Creations. I wasn’t.. I know you’re not like that,” you say, sincerely. Even though, honestly, his romantic inclinations (if that’s what they are) are exactly what turn your knees to jelly.

His expression clears, thankfully. “Okay. Alright, what’s your all-time favorite play?”

You laugh. “That’s not playing fair.”

He laughs as well. “Okay, fine, we’ll take it slower. What are you most looking forward to this upcoming season?”

So you rattle off a few names but say you’re unsure of how much longer you’ll be in New York anyway.

“That’s right,” he says “The London gig. When will you know?’

“Should be getting a call any day. Would probably have to leave for a few days then, finalize and all.’

“Cool. Let me know how all that goes.”

You nod. “You live in LA don’t you?’

“Yeah. I’m shooting a film right now. Then we start prep on Angels.”

“Cool,” you say, but you’re distracted now.

You feel the air around you grow strained and realize you’re probably both thinking the same things: where could this even go? The LA thing, sure, fine that can be dealt with but if you get Death Trap you won’t even be in NY when he’s actually _here_. The entire evening suddenly seems pointless. Why even bother getting to know him, then? You’d rather be making out somewhere and enjoy each other’s company _that_ way because dammit, you _like_ talking to him and actually feel some odd connection – it’s like some cruel joke.

“Hey,” he says and you look up from where you’ve been picking at the table cloth. “It is what it is. Let’s just have a nice night, okay?”

You take a drink of wine. “Yeah, okay.” You want to add, ‘but you’re wasting your time’ except you can’t make yourself say the words.

The appetizers arrive. You steal one of his lobster ravioli and he procures some of your crab salad.

“So. Favorite play. Go.”

You groan. “Arrgh, alright, alright. Honestly, it’s Angels.”

Zach gives you a look. “Come on.”

You hold up your hands. “Seriously it is. I read it in high school and it just – spoke to me.”

“Were you out then?” Zach asks, sounding curious.

“Yeah, never really been ‘in,’ you know?”

He nods. “I, heh, wasn’t ‘in’ until Hollywood got a hold of me. It’s just something that was there, you know? I lived my life and my family and friends obviously knew but it wasn’t like you have to walk around wearing a sign. Then you get to Hollywood and suddenly if you _aren’t_ wearing that sign you’re automatically straight because you haven’t said otherwise. So you’re assumed straight until you’re assumed gay. And then the studio tells you to keep who you are on the down low.”

You don’t say anything, somewhat surprised by his candidness.

He looks at you, contrite. “Sorry. I must sound terribly attractive: actor with successful franchise looks for pity because he’s at the mercy of the studio system.”

You don’t feel pity for him. If anything, you feel relief that it bothers him – that he isn’t sitting back, playing their game, dating women for show. “I think you’re doing a great job,” you tell him honestly.

He looks at you and your breath catches at the openness of his expression. He clears his throat. “Sexual Perversity in Chicago.”

“I’m sorry?”

He grins. “My favorite play. It’s almost Angels as well but you’d accuse me of copying you.”

You flip him off. “Mamet is incredible.”

“So, I’ve seen some of your episodes on the show. You’re good. Show’s rather weak at times, though, I must say.”

You shrug. “Certainly isn’t a masterpiece. But its fun and I support Lea whole-heartedly. While we’re on TV roles, your Sylar used to freak me out.”

“That’s because you were probably ten when you were watching it.’

“That’s exactly right. So you’d better be able to explain why you’re on a date with a fifteen year old.”

He flips you off, good-naturedly.

“And obviously I loved Star Trek, like the rest of the world.’

You watch as his brow furrows and a grimace grace his face. “Can we not talk about resume credits? It makes me feel like I’m on an interview.” His tone is clipped.

A wave of embarrassment washes over you. You tap your fingers against the table. “You started this topic, man.”

Zach sighs and looks contrite. “I know. I guess I just wanted to talk about you and your work.”

You shrug, even though that does send a little thrill through you. “Goes both ways. We could just talk Broadway, then. Although I warn you those questions will arrive in interviews soon enough.”

‘Touche,” he grins. Your food arrives at that moment and there’s silence for a little while with some small talk in between. You’re spearing an asparagus onto your fork when you glance up and find him looking at you.

“You look very nice tonight,” he says, sincerity dripping through the words.

“Thanks,” you blush. You have the ridiculous desire to reach across the table and touch the back of his hand. Instead, you decide he finally deserves a response devoid of deflection.

“You look incredible,” you reply, quietly, and hold his gaze.

The air is charged as you both refuse to look away. Finally he licks his lips and glances around. “There’s gotta be a bathroom here somewhere,” he quips, and then looks at you, teeth bared.

You throw your napkin at him. “Asshole.”

He catches it and grins wider, then returns to his meal. You feel the slight brush of his foot against your calf and smile down at your plate.  
___________________________________________

Afterwards, you’re full of monkfish, citrus marinated strawberries and far too much wine. You exit the restaurant, cool summer breeze hitting your face.

He turns to you. “Did you want to go somewhere for an after dinner drink or.. where do you live anyway?”

“East village,” you reply.

“Got a place I’m renting right now, closer to Chelesa.”

You nod, feeling awkward and unsure why. You’ve already had his dick in your hand.

He seems indecisive, eyebrows pinched together. “We could get a cab and just… decide on the way, I guess.”

“Sounds good,” you say because anything is better than this.

In the cab, he gives tells the driver to head towards 25th and park while you both figure out a location. “I’m closer,” he says and touches your knee lightly.

You nod in agreement. His fingers move in slow circles and you angle a little closer to him.

“I had a nice time,” he says.

“Me too.” You look at him, take in his dark eyes and his focused expression – focused on _you_.

You must be giving off strange signals because he suddenly looks completely unsure of himself.

“Can I..” he starts, then stops and you realize your own ridiculous worry about things that haven’t even happened yet is currently cock-blocking you.

“Jesus, just--” you mutter, entirely at yourself and hook your arm around his neck, bringing your mouths together. He groans into it, licking between your lips rough and purposeful. His hair is coarse with gel beneath your hand. Your fingers trail down to the back of his neck, finding hot, smooth skin. He shifts on the seat, pressing closer while his tongue explores your mouth. He breaks away after a moment, and kissing the corner of lips. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since you walked in the restaurant,” he breathes.

You try to tug his mouth back to yours but he refuses. Instead, he bites his way down your neck again, this time a smooth cheek soothing your already reddened skin. You slide your hands down his back and beneath his suit jacket until you feel the crisp cotton of his shirt and his hot skin beneath it.

His mouth finds the pulse in your neck and presses against it, over and over. Then his lips are on yours again and his hands are in your hair and it’s so hot the way he licks slowly into your mouth that you can hardly stand it.

You kiss for long minutes until you’re breathless and aching. He inches back, pulling on your bottom lip with his teeth. “Do you wanna come up?” he asks, his voice impossibly deeper again, something you’re quickly discovering to be associated with sex.

You kiss your way down his neck and don’t answer. You’re hard and aching and of _course_ you fucking want to but you’re torn between letting him fuck you now so it at least happens and forcing him to work for it.

“I dunno,” you finally murmur against his lips. His throat rumbles with laugher.

“You’re going to make me earn this now, aren’t you? Woo you so I don’t get the wrong impression of you, is that it?”

You lick your way up to his ear and bite down hard on the lobe. “Something like that,” you say, because he’s wrong and right all at once.

“Fuck,” he whispers and you can’t help yourself; you brush your knuckles over his groin, greeted by the hard press of his cock along the inseam.

“Fucking tease,” he says, without malice. “Guess I didn’t flatter you enough.” The warm humor in his tone makes you ache. This guy is something else.

“Perhaps you should work on that,” you agree and kiss him again, open-mouthed and hungry. The cab stutters to a stop just as you’re twirling your fingers in the sticky strands of his hair and moaning wantonly as he pries your lips apart impossibly wide.

“25th,” the cabbie calls out.

Zach breaks away and you have to stop your mouth from following his. He runs a hand through his hair, even though it’s stayed perfectly in place all evening. “You sure I can’t… convince you otherwise?”

You bite your lip and seriously consider it, then shake your head. “You want my number?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, I’ll just track you down in this small city we’re in.” He pulls out his phone and you take it from him, programming in your number.

“I’ll get out here, he’s heading down to the village.”

Zach starts to pull out his wallet but you wave him off. “I got it,” you say and tell the driver to make it one fare.

Zach looks like he wants to protest but opts for kissing you again instead. “I’ll call you,” he says after a long, deep kiss that makes your thighs shake. You once again consider getting out of the cab.

“Okay,” you say, voice breathless and watch as he opens the door and begin walking down the street.  
_____________________________

The cab ride is quiet and you play the evening back in your head. You enjoy the push and pull of him – how he doesn’t seem inclined to conform just because he’s trying to make a good impression on you. So often your dates are fabrications of who the person ultimately is, revealing only what you want them to see. You feel like he’s showing you his imperfections from the start and isn’t trying to play games. For some reason, that freaks you out even more.

By the time you walk through your door you’re still half hard and more than a little wound up. You shed your sport coat, draping it over a kitchen chair and grab a bottle of water from the fridge before toeing off your shoes and dropping down to the couch in a supine position. You take a drink then place it on the coffee table as you lazily palm your erection through your pants. Your eyes drift shut and you picture him in that fucking suit with those fucking eyes. You groan and press down harder, wanting him so badly you can taste it.

Your phone buzzes and you curse under your breath. The screen reveals a text from a number you don’t know but the content is unmistakable

 _Favorite musical. We forgot to do that_

You shudder out a breath and type with nimble fingers.

 _Les Miz_ , you respond.

 _Tie between Rent and Spring Awakening 4 me_ , he replies.

You shake your head even though a surge of heat pumps through you.

 _You’re just trying to get into my pants._

 _Been there. Nice place ;-) But I’m being serious. Hayden and I used to blast it in the car and sing along. Badly, of course._

You smile at his response.

 _I’d have paid to see that._

His reply is immediate.

 _;-) Are you home?_

For some reason, you read that in his lust-voice and it makes you shiver. You slowly slide your zipper down, and pop open the button, dragging your finger tips over the outline of your erection. You bite your lip and reply _yeah, few minutes ago_ with one hand.

There’s a pause for at least a minute in which you stroke yourself lazily, still through your briefs, teasing up and down the length and wishing it was his mouth.

When your phone buzzes it makes you jump. The words cause lust to cloud your eyes.

 _I jerked off thinking about you_

“Fuck,” you moan aloud. You shove your hand into your underwear and pull out your cock with shaky fingers. You send him the same four letters in response.

Another buzz. _Are you still hard?_

“Jesus,” you whisper and type _y_

 _Are you touching yourself?_

 _yy_ , you stab into the keyboard and arch your back, your feet planted firmly on the cushions and your legs bent at the knee.

Buzz. _fuck can i call u?_

 _yyy_ you tap and bite your lip as pre-come leaks over your hand. You grip yourself tighter, hand flying over hungry flesh.

Your phone rings and you press talk, but say nothing.

‘Jesus, Jon,’ he says, and his voice sounds wrecked.

“Yes,” is all you can say.

“God, I want you. Stroke yourself, let me hear you.”

You moan softly and fist your dick, hips rising.

“I jerked off thinking about the way you sounded last night, the way you looked at dinner.”

“Zach,” you whisper, brokenly.

“Fist the head of your dick, imagine it’s my mouth. Want to suck you. Would’ve dropped to my knees in the restaurant if it were deemed socially acceptable.”

“I want your mouth,” is all you can say.

“Want to taste you, suck you so hard until you’re fucking my face,” he says in a rush of air.

“Want to suck you, too,” you gasp and thumb the head of your cock.

“Fuck,” he groans and you hear him a soft rustling. “I.. god, I bet your mouth is amazing.”

“Are you hard again?’ you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” he affirms.

“I wanted to peel you out of that damn suit tonight,” you tell him, delighting in the soft sound he makes.

“You could have,” he points out and you grit your teeth.

“Don’t fucking remind me.” You lick your palm and return your hand to your cock, stroking yourself with intent.

“Want to lick my way down your chest, take your cock in my mouth and suck you until you scream, Jon.”

“Fuck yes,” you moan and for long seconds it’s just the sound of your harsh breaths and wordless grunts. You feel your thighs tense and your balls tighten. “I’m, oh god --”

“Come for me, Jon, let me hear it,” he pleads, voice sounding rough at the edges.

You cry out unabashed, his name catching on your lips. “Oh shit,” you can hear him saying and perhaps something like “so hot” and then his cries are matching the ones you just made and you know he’s gone.

You lie there listening to him breathing before reaching for the tissues on the coffee table. You dab at your hand and stomach while his sound of his breath washes over you.

‘Christ,’ he finally says.

You smile. “You should know, I’m a terribly contrary individual.”

“I think I like that,” he says, voice unsteady.

You smile and don’t say anything for a few moments, still regaining air to your lungs. Finally, you admit, “I had fun tonight.”

“Me too,” you hear the smile in his voice. “It’s.. been a little while.”

You don’t know if he means a date or phone sex or seeing someone more than once. Perhaps all three.

You decide to say, “Same,” anyway.

Out of nowhere he starts singing “All That’s Known” and you burst out laughing.

“You get that one for free,’ he says. “G’night, Jon.”

You’re smiling so wide you can hardly form your words. “Night, Zach.”

______________________________

He doesn’t call but he sends you texts. Texts that he doesn’t need to be sending you, little tidbits of Broadway gossip or things he saw during his day and they make you smile. You reply back to his but never initiate your own. The call comes that Wednesday and your heart nearly stops: you got the part. The first person you call is Lea; the second is your mom. You toy with the idea of telling him – he did, after all, want you to let him know. You decide against it.

He calls you late afternoon on Thursday the 10th. “Hey, how are you?” he asks, sounding frazzled.

“Good. You?”

“Been crazy busy. And now I’m leaving for L.A. on Saturday for a few days but I finally have some free time tomorrow. I’d like to see you, if you’re available.”

You hesitate. “It’s been kinda crazy for me too, uh. Got a lot of shit going on. And I leave for London on Saturday.”

“You got the part?!” He sounds ridiculously excited and something tightens in your chest.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? That’s great!”

You shrug, as if he could see you. You honestly don’t know the reason.

“I’m happy for you,” he says softly in the space of the silence.

You shift your weight, uncomfortable. “Yeah, so. I’m gone till like the 19th. And I’m currently prepping for a solo show when I get back.”

“Where?” he asks, voice still quiet.

“It’s gonna be at Joe’s Pub on the 20th.”

“Cool,” he says, sounding casual. “So, uh, guess this all means you aren’t free tomorrow then?”

“I’m..” You are, technically, you just need to get some sound rehearsals but you’re again asking yourself what’s the point. If he wants a quick hook-up he can get that anywhere. If he doesn’t, or even if he wants quick hook-ups with just _you_ , well, you’re going to be gone for months starting in July. This is stupid.

“I want to see you. Can’t you just go with it?” He voice is a mix of fond impatience and it pulls a smile from you.

“You’re ridiculous, but fine, yes.”

His laughter sounds like relief. “I got you to say yes. To be honest, I made no further plans.”

You cover your mouth so a laugh doesn’t escape. “We could see Double Take at the Film Forum and then order in at my place. Or, get something out. Whatever.”

“Sounds great, Jon.” His voice is warm and intimate.

You’re so fucking gone. You want to invite him to your show right now but bite your lip. You tell yourself to get through the second date first.

“I’ll text you with the details,” you reply, suddenly wanting to get off the phone.

“Okay,” he responds. You say a quick goodbye and hang up, pulse racing.

Five minutes later your phone buzzes.

 _Can’t wait to see you._

You’re stupidly charmed by the fact that he felt too shy to say that out loud.

You look up the info on the film and respond back.

 _6:50 showing. Eat afterwards?_

 _yes._

 _see you there at like 6:30_

 _I’ll be there :-)_ , he writes back.

You smile to yourself, fully aware that come tomorrow you’ll be inviting him to your show and then some.

[end]


End file.
